


The Other Thing

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-21
Updated: 2006-07-21
Packaged: 2018-09-06 10:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8746390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean's a whole lot better at forgetting than the other thing...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

****_FIC: The Other Thing (SPN - rated R)  
 _

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Dean's a whole lot better at forgetting than the other thing...

Spoilers: Asylum; Scarecrow

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Not mine, alas.

Warnings: Wincest; fic assumes an established sexual relationship  
 

Thanks to my amazing betas, [](http://nyxfixx.livejournal.com/profile)[ **nyxfixx**](http://nyxfixx.livejournal.com/) and [ ](http://moondagny.livejournal.com/profile)[**moondagny**](http://moondagny.livejournal.com/)    
 

Notes: For [](http://ryu-kk009.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ryu_kk009**](http://ryu-kk009.livejournal.com/) , who needed cheering up after “Asylum”

Crossposted to [](http://community.livejournal.com/wincest/profile)[ **wincest**](http://community.livejournal.com/wincest/), [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/supernaturalfic/profile)[**supernaturalfic**](http://community.livejournal.com/supernaturalfic/), [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/sn_slash/profile)[**sn_slash**](http://community.livejournal.com/sn_slash/), and [](http://community.livejournal.com/snslashnotebook/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/snslashnotebook/) **snslashnotebook**        
 

  
 

The Other Thing

    
 

Dean was tired. 

That wasn’t too surprising, really, considering that he’d been up for nearly two days straight now. Oh, and that he’d spent most of last night tied to a tree, waiting for a scarecrow-god to disembowel him.

Well, not so much actually _waiting_ … it wasn’t as though he’d been looking forward to it. 

He’d been delighted to see Sam – and really hadn’t expected to, either. They’d been fighting almost nonstop for days, and it didn’t help any that Sam had shot him, actually _shot_ him… just with rock salt to be sure, but still… When Sam took off on his own, it was almost a relief.

Almost.

It was _definitely_ a relief not to be Mr. This Year’s Sacrifice to a Pagan God. Runner-up in that contest was just fine, thanks.

And it was nice – _really_ nice – to crash on the bed. He kicked off his shoes, stripped down to briefs and a tee, and stretched, thrusting his hands above his head and closing his eyes. Then he lay down on the bed with a satisfied grunt.

He sat up again almost immediately. Something seemed… _wrong_. He and Sam had prepped the room in the usual way – they’d done a quick EMF scan for baddies, then spread rock salt along the doors and windows.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around the room. Sam was in the shower; apparently, spending one night on a bus station floor and another driving a stolen car didn’t leave him feeling fresh as a daisy. The laptop sat on a small desk, opened but not on; the TV was off. And on the wall facing Dean was what had to be the ugliest wallpaper in history. 

The wallpaper was a forest scene, but it was a forest that would have made Bambi leap off a cliff. The colors were dark and ugly: dirty browns, harsh yellows, and almost malevolent greens. And the figures themselves were all out of proportion: the squirrels were the size of housecats, the trees were too squat, and the bushes seemed shriveled and tiny. In the center of the wallpaper stood an enormous deer, a stag, which was actually taller than the trees.

Dean shook his head. It was ugly as hell, but if bad decorating was a sign of unearthly activity, he and Sam would have to burn down damn near every motel in the country.

He snorted a little, laughed at himself, and relaxed. He was about to let himself drop back onto the bed – and then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something _move_. Something in the wallpaper. He froze.

Yep. Something had moved. It was the stag. 

“Well, this sucks,” muttered Dean.

The giant stag turned its head and stared straight at him. Dean’s heart started to pound; then he heard the shower-water shut off.

“Sam,” Dean called. He quickly scanned the room again: the duffle with the guns was on the other side of the room, under the table with the laptop.

The stag’s eyes glowed red. A breeze blew _through_ the wallpaper, rustling tree limbs and bush branches.

“Sam,” he called again, this time more urgently. The stag began to walk, slowly and awkwardly at first. Then it stepped out of the wall, off the paper, leaving a blank, stag-shaped space in its absence. It stamped its hooves.  
  
Dean heard the bathroom door open. “What d’you want, Dean?”

The stag focused its attention solely on Dean. It made a weird noise, lowered its head; its antlers looked _sharp_.

“SAM!” Dean shouted, desperately trying to decide – _do I move? Will that make it charge? Or if I stay here –_

The stag sprang forward; Dean frantically tried to move back on the bed. The damn thing was right there, right on top of him; he could smell its foul breath. There was a violent explosion of noise, of pain, and Dean was slammed backward. His head smacked against the wall with an unpleasant thud.

He winced, blinked. The glowing red eyes were gone… but oh, he _hurt_.

Then all at once, Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, naked and dripping wet, a still-smoking shotgun in one hand.

“Dean? Are you all right? Did it get you?”

“I – I think so. I – my chest…”

Sam pulled up Dean’s t-shirt, and gasped.

Dean gave a weak smile. “What, have I got Demonic Wallpaper Deer hoof-marks or something on my pecs?”

“No,” whispered Sam. “It – it wasn’t the deer. It was me… I got you. It happened so fast, I couldn’t get a good angle. I mean, I hit the deer, but you got the residual.”

Dean looked down at his chest. The dozens of tiny wounds from the rock salt Sam had shot at him just a few days ago were still livid red; the newest ones were bleeding freely. 

“Dude, you have _really_ got to stop doing that.”

“Dean, I’m sorry – it was an accident. Hang on, let me get the first-aid kit.”

“Sam, I’m fine.”  
  
“Like hell.” Sam groped around in the duffle for the medikit. “I’m really sorry. Did – did it bleed like that after the asylum, too?”

Dean shrugged. “It’s cool, I washed that shirt. You’re just lucky it wasn’t one of my favorites.”  
  
“Damn, Dean, I’m sorry…”

“Look, bag the first aid kit, okay? I just want to get some sleep.”

“And bleed all over the bed?”

“You’ve got your own.”

“That’s not the point.” He dropped the first aid kit on the foot of Dean’s bed. “Okay, lemme get a towel to wipe up the blood.” He disappeared into the bathroom.

“You’re not going use the one you dried off with, are you?” called Dean. “Because that would be gross.”

Sam reappeared, a towel in his hand. “Dude, I’m not even _dry_.”

“Well,” said Dean, taking a good long look, “that’s certainly true enough.”

Sam shook his head. “Perv.”

“Bitch.”

Sam snorted. He sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, waited until Dean reluctantly lay back a bit, and then pressed the towel against his brother’s chest. Streaks of red immediately appeared on the worn terrycloth.  
  
“Damn, didn’t realize I was bleeding so much,” muttered Dean. 

“It’s probably not as bad as it looks,” said Sam. “Or at least, I hope it isn’t.”

“Well, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He pulled himself back into a sitting position. “At least, I will if you can get through the next week or so without shooting me again.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Look, Dean, about what happened at the asylum…”

“Don’t really want to talk about it, Sammy.”

Sam leaned forward abruptly and kissed Dean full on the mouth. He lingered in the kiss, running his tongue over Dean’s lips; then, slowly, he pulled back.

Dean’s eyes were still closed. They fluttered open, and Dean said, “Jeez, Sammy… I was going to make some joke about pepper, but I just _do not_ remember what it was…”

Sam gave a lopsided smile, pulled the towel off Dean’s chest, dabbing at a few spots. “Gonna bandage you up now.” He pulled antibiotic ointment, gauze bandages, and medical tape out of the kit. 

“Be faster to wrap me up like a mummy,” said Dean dryly. 

“It probably would,” agreed Sam.

“But you’re not going to do it that way, are you?”

Sam grinned. “Nope.” He worked quickly, silently; Dean watched him with quiet interest. As Sam finished taping down the last of the bandages, Dean ran his hand through his brother’s hair.

“Still wet,” he murmured. 

Sam lifted his head, met Dean’s eyes. “Dean, about the asylum – ”

It was Dean who leaned forward this time, kissing his brother tenderly. He broke the kiss, and said quietly, “I’ll forget it, I promise.”

Sam ran a trembling finger across Dean’s mouth. “It’s not the forgetting, bro,” he said quietly. “It’s the other thing.”

Dean gently kissed Sam’s finger. “What other thing?”

“You know what they say,” said Sam quietly. “Forgetting’s only half the equation.”  
  
“Oh I see,” Dean whispered. “Forgiven.” They kissed again, passionately, fiercely. Sam slid one arm around Dean’s waist, and slipped his other hand up the back of Dean’s head –

“Ow!” Dean pulled back with a jerk, rubbed the back of his head. “Whacked my head on the wall, Dude,” he said. He breathed deeply. “Look, I want to, but I’m just not in any shape – ”

“No, that’s cool, Dean – ”

“Just – just shut up and lie down with me, okay?”

Sam smiled. “Yeah, I can do that. You want some aspirin first?”

“Unless we got morphine.”

“Not for a headache.”

“Stingy.”

“Whiny.”

“Just gimme the aspirin, Sarah Jane.”

Sam snorted, filled a plastic cup with water from the tap, and climbed into the bed with his brother. They settled down together, their bodies cuddled close.

“Well, would you look at that,” said Dean.

“What?”

“The wallpaper.”

It was still a forest scene, but the colors were bright and beautiful – verdant greens, sunny yellows, and clear, almost impossibly cheerful blues. The trees, bushes, and squirrels had all returned to their proper proportion; a few small birds had even appeared. The space where the stag had stood was filled in by a rose bush in full bloom. 

“Pretty,” said Sam.

“Remind me to punch the hotel clerk,” said Dean.  
  
“What for?”

“Giving us a haunted room.”

Sam laughed. Dean smiled, gave his brother a quick kiss, and finally closed his eyes and fell into a deep, welcome, healing sleep. 


End file.
